


battling on the regular

by YesIsAWorld



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Louis Tomlinson (Musician), One Direction (Band), Sam Fender (Musician)
Genre: Break Up, Football, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, minor scuffle between exes on the football pitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld
Summary: Sam rearranges all the thoughts in his head that had been bouncing around since Louis had saidrelationship shit.Gone are flouncy bottle blondes who are not so subtly taking advantage of him and instead there’s Calvin Harris, breaking his heart. As if Calvin Harris deserves someone kind and generous like Louis to begin with.
Relationships: Calvin Harris/Louis Tomlinson, Sam Fender/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 48
Collections: Walls Fic Fest





	battling on the regular

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [disgruntledkittenface](http://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/) for the beta and [runaway-train-works](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/) for the Brit pick (and pairing idea!)! Wouldn’t have been able to do this without you two!

“I don’t think this is going to work, like, long term,” Calvin says, as he yanks his jeans back up his legs.

“Seriously?” Louis _just_ had his cock in his mouth. He wouldn’t have pulled out all the stops if he knew Calvin was about to break up with him.

“I mean, we’ll still be friends, obviously. You’re great, pal.”

“Pal.”

“See you at the next match.” Calvin winks, and he’s out the door before Louis even thinks to pull the duvet up over his limp dick. 

He waits until Calvin gets downstairs, probably saying a more proper goodbye to Cliff than Louis got, and waits until he hears the car door slam before he gets up to take a hot shower. 

Louis sighs as he waits for the water to heat up. Some part of him knew that hooking up with Calvin was a bad idea. They’re friends. Good friends, even. Not like the fake friends that he has scattered all over the industry who would sell him out in a New York minute. The kind of friends that have serious chats over a pint or two or five. They created a footie group and play together whenever they’re both in LA or Ibiza or London, more recently. Louis and Calvin road tripped twice to Calvin’s mum’s house in Somerset before they started hooking up.

Calvin’s generally funny and not too much of a wanker with his money, and has been a genuinely nice guy. 

Maybe he’s not marriage and four kids and second house up in Scotland nice. But nice. Chill. Down for anything. And a fucking hard worker. 

Louis lathers up and thinks about how it was supposed to be him that broke up with Calvin, eventually. He wasn’t supposed to be blindsided by Calvin casually brushing him off. 

He pouts as he washes his hair, and tries not to think of him. The fucker. 

###

“Can you get me another pint, lad?” Louis asks. “Gotta hit the loo.”

Sam thought they were going to take it easy. “Just a pint or two” Louis said when he roped Sam into their night out. But Sam’s hitting his limit, and Louis’ frown hasn’t eased up all night, and Sam wonders if maybe there was something he missed. “Sure,” Sam says easily; Louis’ll pay the tab like always and it’s not like he really has anywhere to be in the morning. And Louis’s already ambling back to the loo.

“You okay?” Sam asks when Louis slides back into their booth, fresh beer waiting for him. 

“Yeah, of course,” Louis says, but there’s something flat, an ease to it, that tells Sam this is part of his well-practiced media training. 

Sam hates that. He knows how honest Louis can be in his writing, how he’s not a hyper masculine prick who refuses to own his emotions. He doesn’t want to push though. They’re new friends, but Sam feels like a night out with just the two of them means he can claim Louis as a mate. “You don’t have to, obviously, especially not here in public, but I am here, if you ever need to…” It sounds lame coming from his mouth, but it’s the truth, so he pushes on. “Talk. Or whatever.” They barely know each other. A few texts after Louis somehow ended up at one of his shows and then they’d hung out a handful of times. Every time, Sam was overwhelmed by Louis Tomlinson taking time out of his whirlwind schedule to answer his questions and listen to a riff or two, and just to talk about life on the road, which Sam hasn’t fully experienced yet. 

Louis ducks his head and smiles, a quick nod before he tips his pint in Sam’s direction then takes a long sip. “Thanks, mate.” He looks around the pub, then takes another sip. “Just. Relationship shit.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Been there,” he jokes, to lighten the mood. 

“Hey,” Louis says, sitting up straight and cocking his head to the side. “You play footie?”

Sam’s caught off guard by the sudden change in topic.

“Yeah. Premier League isn’t calling anytime soon, but I can hold my own.”

“Sweet.” Louis nods again. “A few of us get together occasionally. I’ll give you a call next time.”

###

Louis forgot about the vague invite he tossed out to Sam until he couldn’t sleep before their next five-a-side. Staying polite and aloof and not at all affected by Calvin’s rejection was easy over WhatsApp, but an ugly knot of fear lodged itself in his stomach and Louis was annoyed. Niall would be his go to, normally, but Louis could read Niall’s disapproving glares from a mile away every time he and Calvin harmlessly flirted on the pitch. “He’s not good for you,” had been the last thing Niall said to Louis the first night Louis followed Calvin out of the pub and into the back of an Uber. Louis hates when Niall’s right. 

Plus, Niall isn’t even going to be there, since he had fucked off to Australia. 

Louis knows it’ll be fine. Calvin isn’t going to say anything, or do anything, to make anyone think that Louis is a jilted ex. Because he isn’t. They fooled around a few times; that was it. But it’s Louis that Louis’s worried about. Always struggles to bite his tongue. And he’s not upset, he’s not. It’s not the first time someone’s ended things. Won’t be the last. But Louis doesn’t normally have to play nice afterwards, and pretend like everything’s fucking fine. Which it is, so pretending shouldn’t be hard. But. He’s been known to be a little… prickly… after a breakup. 

Which this isn’t. 

He texts Sam. 

Sam’s a solid bloke. And he’s available the next afternoon. 

Plus, he’s pretty sure Sam’s totally indifferent to the concept of celebrity. He didn’t bat an eyelash when Louis introduced himself, and has maintained a quiet, consistent interest in the more public side of Louis’ life, but without being impressed by any of it at all. So the chances of him fawning after Calvin are pretty slim. Plus, it’s not like EDM is Sam’s thing. So he’s even less likely to be impressed by him. 

Louis sends him the time and the place and forgets to warn him about the slight hazing that happens to the newbies.

###

Looking across the pub, Sam finds Louis tucked into a corner talking to Calvin. He crosses the room, trying hard not to slosh his ale. “You could’ve warned me!” Sam hears the slurring of his own words and makes a mental note to slow down with the beers, even as he pulls the pint glass back up to his lips.

“Eh,” Louis smirks. “It wasn’t that bad.”

It wasn’t. Really. Thanks to Louis pulling out a towel to help dry him off and also giving him a spare shirt he had brought along. Balenciaga. Sam almost protested until he remembered that Louis probably got it for free, and if he didn’t, he could certainly afford it. 

“Suppose not, but you’re still a wanker.”

Louis lowers his eyes, glaring at Sam for a moment, before his whole face transforms and he’s easily throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder. The timing’s terrible though, as Sam attempts to lean into it and Louis draws it away; Sam’s feet cross and the rest of his body doesn’t get the message in time and then he’s crashing into Calvin’s side. His glare doesn’t quite let up. “Soz,” Sam says lowly, not even sure—and definitely not caring—if Calvin even heard him. He barely touched the guy. 

“Might want to tighten that leash,” Calvin says to Louis. 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up, and it’s like someone’s paused the world until Sam says, “How is Cliff? You going to bring him over anytime so I can finally meet him?”

Louis’ face turns soft again. “My best boy? Hell yeah. It’s only a select few who get the chance to meet such a stand up dog, so you can count yourself lucky.” 

“I’m going to catch up with Diplo. We’ll finish our talk later, Louis,” Calvin says, before he nods his head in Sam’s direction and walks off. 

“Is he always such a wanker?” Sam asks. 

“Eh.” Louis looks like there’s more than he wants to say, but then he clamps his mouth shut. 

“Thought so. He gives off those wanker vibes,” Sam says, giving off jazz fingers around his pint. 

“No, I mean, not always. We were just in the middle of a—”

“Did I interrupt?”

“Nah. Glad you came over.” Louis bumps his shoulder into Sam’s. “Impeccable timing too. He was going on about how it looked like we were, uh, flirting, during the game.”

“Ohhhh, one of those.” A wave of nausea fills Sam. Definitely should’ve stopped with the last pint. “Not just any wanker, but a homophobic wanker.” He’s surprised that Louis would be friends with someone like that, but then again, the world’s full of stupid surprises like that for people as sensitive as he is. That’s what his mum says, anyway. 

“Eh. Not that either. We, uh,” Louis winces, “we had a thing, I guess you could say.”

“Oh shit, no way.” Full of surprises. Sam rearranges all the thoughts in his head that had been bouncing around since Louis had said _relationship shit_. Gone are flouncy bottle blondes who are not so subtly taking advantage of him and instead there’s Calvin Harris, breaking his heart. As if Calvin Harris deserves someone kind and generous like Louis to begin with.

“It ended.” Louis is saying. “But apparently there was some cross communication about whether it had properly ended, like, for good, and he got a little sore, thinking that you were, uh—”

Sam takes another long drink to stave off the sudden dryness in his throat. “Jealous, then?”

“Yeah, funny, considering.” There’s a flash of sadness that Sam hates and then Louis rolls his eyes and throws his arm back around Sam’s shoulders, and gently leads him back towards the bar. “Another drink?”

“Not gonna say no, lad,” Sam says, already regretting it. 

###

Louis invites Sam to play the next match, too. Their matches can be sporadic, with their travel schedules, but sometimes it all comes together and they’ll have a flurry of matches closely spaced if Louis and Calvin and the others are in the same town for more than a day or two. 

Something interesting happens though, in that when Calvin is around, Sam becomes more… flirty. That’s the best word Louis has to describe it, and it’s throwing him for a loop. When he arrives at the pitch, three days after the last match and the too many pints afterward, Sam’s already there, blonde hair standing out in the weak sun and his gangly body less settled than the others idly stretching next to him. As Louis walks closer, their eyes meet from across the pitch, and then Sam, with his coltish energy, is running straight towards him. 

“Hiya!” he says, full of energy that reminds Louis of himself just a few short years ago. 

“Hey yourself,” Louis says, smile already stretching with Sam’s infectious, lopsided grin. 

“We’re just about to pick teams. Think you’re the last one here.”

Louis laughs. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Notoriously bad with time, I am.”

Sam knocks shoulders with him as they’re steps away from everyone else, and with the way Calvin glares at Sam, Louis’s concerned about the friendly they should’ve started a few minutes ago. 

They divide into teams, through a schoolyard pick system, and Louis and Sam are picked by the same team—skins, not shirts—two rounds in a row. They high five, and then huddle with the rest of their team, figuring out their game plan. 

It’s barely five minutes into the game and Calvin tackles Sam, who looks just as confused as the rest of their friends when he finally gets back to his feet, shaking out his leg and testing a cautious walk. 

Louis jogs over once Diplo has collared Calvin and is having a quietly irate conversation off to the side. He’s got a fear that somehow Calvin’s got the wrong idea about them, and that Sam’s winding Calvin up—for some stupid reason—and he doesn’t want to stoke the fires just yet.

“You okay?” Louis asks as Sam rolls his ankle. 

“Fine. He is a wanker though. Grade A. I didn’t do shit to provoke him.”

Louis glances around the pitch and everyone seems just as confused. It’s not really Calvin’s style to lash out in anger, or for whatever reason. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“It’s fine.” Sam winces as he puts more weight on the ankle.

“It’s not.” Louis pats his shoulder and then goes to lay into Calvin. 

Brooklyn Beckham steps away, giving Louis some space, as he shoves Calvin. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to knock him off his center of balance. “What the fuck, dude.”

Calvin looks at him, wide-eyed, like he’s an innocent party and has no idea what Louis is talking about. He places his hands on his hips. “What?”

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you are out of control.”

“Fuck you, mate,” Calvin spits back. 

Louis takes a step back. “Watch yourself.”

Calvin’s eyes flash. His lip twitches, and then he launches himself at Louis shoulder first. 

Louis lands hard on the ground with the heavy weight of Calvin on top of him. He hears Calvin snarl, but the other lads are pulling Calvin off before it turns into an all out brawl. 

Brooklyn drags Calvin away, an arm around his shoulder, and tries to calm him down. Calvin turns around and swears at Louis again, before finally walking away under his own volition. Louis’ lungs burn as he tries to inhale. He does manage to lift his arm and he flips Calvin off as he walks away. Close enough to the last word, even if Calvin didn’t actually see it. 

“Can you sit up?” Sam’s close, squatting at Louis’ side, and he’s got a warm hand on Louis’ thigh; he looks more concerned than anyone else standing in the loose circle around them.

Louis exhales obnoxiously once he gets a full breath in. “Think so. Want to give a hand?”

Sam’s Adam’s apple bobs slowly, then he nods, and takes Louis’ hand in his. He’s more of a steadying presence than a help, but it’s still appreciated. 

Satisfied that Louis seems to be okay, the rest of the boys slowly walk away, crossing the pitch to the bench and their gym bags. 

“Sure you’re okay?” Sam asks. “That was…” He shakes his head. “That was mad. What the fuck’s his problem?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to be steering clear for a while. Wanker.”

“Not exactly the friendly I imagined.”

Louis laughs, painfully, and clutches his ribs. 

“Fuck. Can I…” Sam looks lost, hopeless. 

“Carry my bag back over to my car?” Louis hates feeling like a damsel in distress, but even more he hates the idea of picking up his bag and carrying it anywhere, let alone across to the other side of the car park.

“No problem,” Sam agrees easily. He matches Louis’ slow steps across the grass. Everyone else is gone by the time they get to the bench, and Louis’s glad no one else is there to see him shaky and frustrated.

Louis tries to relax his body, shaking out his arms and shoulders and legs, breathing deep and steady. His ribs on the right side have a dull ache that doesn’t get worse as he twists his torso, so he thinks he’s fine. Annoyed. Pissed off. But fine. 

“You sure you’re okay to get home?” Sam asks as he tosses Louis’ bag into the passenger seat. 

“Yeah.” It’s not the getting home he’s worried about. It’s the boredom he’s going to face when he’s there. And Sam could be the perfect friend to pass some time with. “I’ll be fine. But if you want to stop by, don’t have any plans. Pub night at mine?” He tries to keep his breath even as he remembers their last pub night, the way Sam kept his warm thigh pressed against Louis’.

“Cool.” Sam says, easy as anything. “I’ll follow you there.”

###

Sam rests his forehead on his steering wheel. He’s pretty sure, based on the hitch of Louis’ breath as Sam touched his thigh and the way Louis’ eyes went dark when he offered up his house, that this could be whatever Sam wants it to be. Louis’s a top lad, he’d be cool if Sam just wanted to hang out as mates, but Sam wants more. Obviously. Louis is devastatingly hot and too kind for his own good, and genuinely hilarious and Sam just wants to hang on him all the time. 

So he can’t— He can’t believe he’s getting this ahead of himself. He’s normally smarter than this. But he can’t come on too strong. Louis probably doesn’t even want another relationship—whatever that looks like to him—since he’s still got unfinished business with Calvin _fucking_ Harris.

But Sam can’t help but want more with Louis. He wants a relationship and all that it entails. The over the top _too much_ energy when Sam can’t get enough of his new partner in the beginning. Sliding into a comfort zone when true colors keep making themselves known; repeated stories and wet towels on the floor and boring days at home. The intimacy and trust of knowing someone so deeply. Sam wants all of that with Louis. 

But also, Sam’s going to fuck this up if he takes it further. He knows he will. He’s trash at relationships because of distance and travel and groupies and the way he gets lost in the creative process, and he’s sure attempting anything more than a hookup with another musician will be a total fucking disaster. But he’s got a niggling thought that if anyone’s worth the risk, it’s Louis. 

He turns the radio up, loud enough to drown out his thoughts, and follows Louis out of the car park.

By the time they pull into Louis’ driveway, Sam knows it’s a forgone conclusion. If Louis makes a move, he’s going to be helpless to resist. 

###

Louis uncaps a pair of beers and slides one across the worktop to Sam. Louis had quickly gotten used to Sam’s tactile nature, and the change once he walked through Louis’ door caught him off guard. “You okay?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, course.” Sam finally looks up, concerned. “How ’bout you? Still in pain?”

Louis shakes his head. Sam’s big eyes, the line of his lips, the way he’s all but shrinking into himself. “You sure you’re okay? I don’t—” Sam nods, but Louis keeps talking, “Honestly, I’m fine. You don’t have to stay here on my account if you want to go. No hard feelings. I’m not keeping you locked up in here.”

Sam stops picking at the beer’s label. “I know.”

“Seriously, no hard feelings. I know he got me pretty hard, but I’m solid as an ox.” Louis flexes his arm. “Promise I’m fine.”

Sam put down the beer and took a step closer to Louis. “Promise?”

Louis’ heart kicks a steady, proud beat, and he puts his own beer down too, as Sam takes another step. The whisper of “promise” gets half stuck in Louis’ throat. He reaches up and cups Sam’s neck with his right hand once he’s close enough, and they move together that last step until Sam’s got a steady arm around Louis’ waist and Louis puts his other hand into the back of Sam’s sweaty hair, and the lengths of their bodies press together. Louis pauses briefly before their lips connect, confirming that he hadn’t read the situation wrong, but Sam licks his lips and his eyes flick down to Louis’ own wet lips, and Sam’s pulse under Louis’ hand matches Louis’ own. Louis makes the last final move, ducking his head the last few inches and drawing Sam even closer. 

Sam tastes like the few sips of Stella he had, and Louis feels so sure in Sam’s arms. He had been worried that he was reading the situation wrong or somehow leading Sam on, but now, in the heat of the moment, hearing Sam’s little gasps and grunts, feeling his fingers digging into Louis’ skin, he knows they’re on the same page. 

They kiss until Louis’ knees go weak, until he’s coming up for air like a drowning man. He tips his head back, gulps in a lungful of fresh air, and Sam’s adjusting, working his way across Louis’ jawbone and down to the scruff of his neck. Sam licks and sucks, and Louis has half a mind to tell him to stop, to be aware of bruising, that he doesn’t want to have to explain, but then the pleasure wipes away his worry and he grips Sam’s hair, holding him in place. 

Louis’s already so hard, it’s like Sam knows his every pleasure point, and he’s rocking into Sam, feeling Sam’s hard length too, and if they don’t stop rutting against each other like teens in their mother’s kitchen, Louis’s sure he’s going to come in his pants. 

“Fuck.” He tries to drag himself away from Sam’s swollen lips. “We should—”

Sam stops abruptly, panting as he takes a step away and looks like a chastised child. 

“No. No. Don’t stop. But.” Louis needs to get a coherent thought out. “Bed? Yeah?”

Sam nods vigorously and exhales his worry. “Yes. Bed.”

Louis takes one last swig of his beer before he takes Sam’s hand in his and leads him upstairs. 

###

Sam’s had many moments where he couldn’t believe this was his actual life. The first time he walked on set with his lines memorised. When he got signed. When he hit number one on the charts. When he met Neil Young. Every night that he gets off stage and he’s full of wonder that he has actual fans who come and scream for him as he plays.

And Louis Tomlinson taking his hand and leading him to his bedroom. 

Sam ogles Louis’ arse as they go, feeling well within his rights, considering where they’re going and that he’ll probably get to peel off Louis’ shorts in a matter of time. 

As they get to their destination, Louis does a fancy little turn, lifting their connected hands and rotating under them, so that he’s already kissing Sam as they stumble into the bedroom. Louis lets go of Sam’s hand long enough to scrabble at the bottom of Sam’s t-shirt, attempting to take it off without putting any space between them. Sam focuses long enough to help—the faster he gets his kit off, the faster they can move on to Louis—getting his shirt off then pulling down one side of his shorts and boxers while making a twin to the mark he planted while they were in the kitchen. Louis pulls on the other side and then they’re down around his ankles and Sam’s stepping out of them so he doesn’t trip like a knob. They work together on Louis; Sam pulls his shirt up and over his body while Louis takes off his own grey tracksuit bottoms, and then there’s nothing between them but sweat and heat and Sam kisses Louis over to the bed, his hands roaming the whole time. 

Sam’s never seen something so beautiful as Louis laying across his bed, waiting for Sam to join him. He’s all tanned skin and frivolous tattoos, mischievous smile and hooded eyes, and long strong muscles. “What?” Louis asks, the corner of his smile quirking up even further.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Sam growls, and before Louis’ embarrassment goes further than his rolled eyes, Sam’s in bed with him, half on top of him, their legs twisted together. 

“What do you like?” Louis asks lowly, his rough beard sending shivers down Sam’s spine as it brushes against his throat. 

_“Everything”_ Sam doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to scare Louis off with the amount of want he has. “Blow jobs. Getting fingered. Hand jobs.” Louis finds a sensitive spot on the inside of Sam’s arm and with a twist of his tongue, Sam’s arching his back and pressing his cock hard against Louis’ thigh. “Standard stuff. _Nighh._ You?”

“Want to make you cry out. Want you begging. Gonna make you come all over yourself.”

“Yes.” The only rational thought in his brain. He wants all of that. Louis flips them so Sam’s flat on his back and Louis’s hovering over him. He can still feel how hard Louis is, can see his biceps flex as he holds himself up, and another wave of how fucking blessed he is washes over him; Louis wants to do all of that to _him._

Sam bites his lip as Louis lowers himself and starts a series of licks and bites and sucks across Sam’s chest. He knows Louis wants to hear him, but he’s not going to give in that easily. It sounds like Louis’s going to make him work for it, so Sam’ll make him work for it too. Even though Sam’s already straining not to make any noise. 

“Let it out, baby,” Louis says before digging his teeth across Sam’s ribs. The way he says “baby” with that rasp has Sam’s dick thickening up further. 

“Baby,” Louis says again, this time more drawn out, and Sam throws an arm across his face in embarrassment. There’s nothing about Louis calling him baby that should be hot, and Sam wants to disintegrate into a million pieces with how much he loves it. 

“Uh uh,” Louis chastises softly. “No hiding. It’s okay if you want to be my,” he pauses and Sam can feel how red his face must be. Louis gives him a small smile. “Baby.”

Sam groans, and Louis giggles, muttering something to himself too quietly for Sam to pick up on. Which is probably for the best. Whatever it is, it must be good because then Louis wraps a soft hand around Sam’s cock. He sucks a mark on Sam’s hipbone that has Sam squirming, and Louis’s slowly tightening his grip with each stroke. It has Sam going mad, the need to push up into Louis’ hand and draw back away from his mouth. Quicker than he’d like, Sam feels the start of his orgasm, but Louis doesn’t let it build too much, loosening his hand again, and leaving a smattering of kisses across his thigh. Sam’s catching his breath when Louis motions toward the bedside drawer and says, “Lube.”

“’Kay,” Sam says after a moment, before twisting his body and reaching for the drawer. He finds it by feel without too much trouble, and tosses it down the bed to Louis, who’s got a badly concealed smirk. 

“Still doing okay?”

“Fuck you,” Sam says with a smile. Louis knows exactly how good he was about to be, before he stopped to switch directions. Not that Sam cares, if the starter is anything to go by, Louis knows exactly what he’s doing with his fingers.

Louis cackles, which makes Sam laugh. This is so much better than he expected. 

“Watch that mouth of yours, baby.” With another smirk Louis hitches Sam’s leg over his shoulder and gives another smacking kiss on Sam’s sensitive inner thigh. 

Sam shivers in anticipation when he hears Louis open the lube, and then Louis is _in him,_ carefully stretching him open and Sam’s making the exact noises that he was trying to hold in: whimpers of overwhelming pleasure. 

His fingers are lean and nimble, and when they find Sam’s prostate, Sam’s moan has Louis’ head popping up from between his legs with that same mischievous smile. “That the spot?” Louis asks, pressing up again. 

“Yeah, you smug prick,” Sam says.

Louis throws his head back and laughs, all the while still working his fingers, and Sam needs to learn to multitask like that. He can barely keep breathing while Louis fingers him. 

“It’s okay if I blow you?”

“Christ.” Sam’s already overwhelmed and ready to shoot his load. “Yeah.”

And then Louis’ mouth is on him, sucking hard around the head, and letting his drool slide down Sam’s shaft. Sam sits up, propping himself up on his elbows, so he can watch Louis’ cheekbones at work. He’d had very specific and vivid fantasies about this exact moment and he’s not going to let the moment pass without seeing it in person. It’s even better than he thought it could be, the wet heat of his mouth and his strong fingers still filling him up, the cut of Louis’ cheekbones are sharp and gorgeous and the scruff of his facial hair is making his thighs delightfully red.

Sam hates how close he is to coming, and he lays back down, hoping to stave it off a little longer. 

As if he could read Sam’s mind, Louis pops off, licks his lips and asks, “Alright?”

Sam nods. “Gonna come.”

“I know.” Louis slides his free hand up and down Sam’s shaft a few times. “We’ll get you there, but not yet.”

Sam groans with equal measures of frustration and excitement. When Louis starts up again a few minutes later, his ability to bring Sam right to the brink, quivering and tense, moments away, before pulling off and calming him down, over and over and over again has Sam delirious with the need to come. He isn’t even sure what he’s saying, his vocal cords acting of their own volition.

A tear rolls down Sam’s face, not from any particular emotion, just the way he’s being taken apart so skillfully. 

“Had enough?” Louis asks. 

“Yes. Please. ’m begging.”

Louis looks serious as he nods. “Alright. You’ve been very patient.” And still Sam’s not expecting the ferociousness with which Louis completes the job. The tip of his tongue is focused on the spot under his head that makes his toes curl, and his fingers are providing hard, steady pressure, and his other hand’s still working the rest of Sam’s shaft, every part a perfect machine that built to the crescendo of pleasure that finally seizes Sam’s entire body. His orgasm feels like it’s being wrung out of him, the release so strong after so many close calls, and he keeps coming, like waves crashing on the shore, until Louis sucks him dry. 

Louis clears his throat loudly, and slowly pulls out his fingers while Sam lays still on the bed, unable to move. He still can’t move, even when Louis crashes down next to him and flexes and balls his hand, stretching it out. 

“You broke me,” Sam says. 

“Hope that’s a good thing,” Louis says. 

Sam wants to give him a kiss on the cheek. Instead, he flubbers his lips with a loud exhale. “Best orgasm I’ve ever had. And I’m not just saying that.”

Sam manages to turn his head when Louis doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s being too earnest. 

But Louis looks bashful and proud in equal measures. 

“So maybe you’d want to…”

“Return the favor? I promise I will, once I can at least feel my fingertips and legs again.”

Louis laughs again and the sound feels almost as good as when he just came. “Um, I mean, I sort of…” This time the laugh teeters on awkward. “You sounded too good. I ended up rubbing off on the sheets.”

“What?” Sam focuses all of his energies on getting up one elbow, and sure enough there’s a wet spot and Louis is limp. “Oh.” He’s disappointed at not getting to see it in action, and while he supposes he was the cause, he’d like to be a more active participant next time. “You going to be up for this again, later, maybe?”

“Definitely. I was hoping this wasn’t exactly going to be a one time thing.”

Sam tries to control his face, to give away the flood of thoughts that are assaulting him. 

He fails.

“What?” Louis asks, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. “I can’t read your expression.”

“Uh.” Sam tries to arrange his thoughts into something coherent. “I’d like that; for this not to be a one time thing. But I wasn’t sure…” He pauses again, not sure how much to give away, then goes for total honesty. “I didn’t know what your intentions were. I thought maybe you were still wrapped up in Calvin. That, uh, it was maybe more of a pause with him, then, like, a break? I don’t know. Felt like unfinished business and I wasn’t sure where I stood with that. If you were just passing time with me whilst you missed him?”

They probably should’ve had this conversation clothed. Before they helped each other get off. The silence of the room is deafening as Louis sits up and pools the sheets at his waist, covering himself. He furrows his eyebrows in thought. “Maybe it was. At first. But I was wrong. I think I missed the thought of him. But not actually him.”

“Oh.” That helps, to know where Louis stands with Calvin. But it’s not all that helpful in making Sam feel better about where he stands. 

“I didn’t plan on this.” Louis waves his hand back and forth. “Us.” He drops his hand suddenly. “But you’re… great.” Louis laughs quietly. “I like you. This feels… easy. Nice. In the best way, like how it should be.”

Sam’s heart swells with hope. Because yeah, he feels the same. Without worrying about anyone else, it is easy. Nice. With Louis. Sam nods. “Same. I feel the same.” Sam loves the way Louis’ face looks when he’s well and truly happy. The crinkly eyes and one dimpled smile. But Sam needs just one more confirmation before he lets himself start to fall. “You sure?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m sure.” 

Louis is already moving, crawling up the bed, as relief courses through Sam’s body. He likes the sound of that. They smile dopily at each other for a moment, then they’re kissing, and Sam’s so happy he could burst. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites. I'm not currently allowing translations either. Thank you for respecting my wishes.
> 
> [Here's a shareable tumblr link if you enjoyed it, and want to reblog!](https://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/618463654048874496/battling-on-the-regular-louissam-fender)
> 
> [Here's a twitter link if you enjoyed it, and want to retweet!](https://twitter.com/Lou_and_Haz_AF/status/1262811208660418560)


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